


Civilization

by julien (julie)



Category: The Magnificent Seven (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2000-01-26
Updated: 2000-01-26
Packaged: 2020-12-17 07:10:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,515
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21050366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julien
Summary: Right from the start, Vin had a mild case of hero-worship for Chris Larabee… He is surprised – and intrigued – to learn more about Chris, which soon prompts Vin’s feelings to develop into something more.





	Civilization

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** Set during the first season of the series. (_Me_ resist slashing Michael Biehn…? I think not.) 
> 
> **First published:** 26 January 2000 in my zine Westering Boundaries

# Civilization 

♦

As far as I could tell, Chris Larabee never went looking to be a leader, and he never asked for the loyalty of this motley group of six gunmen – though once we’d each declared ourselves to be on his side, he made his expectations of us pretty clear. High expectations that we found ourselves wanting to live up to. And so it came to be that Ezra Standish the con-man was quickly learning to be braver; J.D. Dunne the giddy young easterner was growing a little less impulsive; Josiah Sanchez the former priest was slowly regaining his faith; Buck Wilmington the adventurer was becoming slightly more responsible; and Nathan Jackson the healer was learning to take his place in the world with rightful confidence.

As for me, Vin Tanner, sharpshooter and bounty hunter, sweeper of floors and scourge of buffalo… this tale’s all about what I learned through being with Chris. It surely wasn’t something I’d been looking for, but I ended up wanting it a whole hell of a lot. And Chris – well, I’d say he’s been learning to care again, learning to care about the six of us and about the people we try to help. That can be a difficult lesson, when a man’s been hurt so badly.

Despite that hurt, there was always something certain and strong about Chris, something honest and unbroken; I could tell that just by looking at his tall, strong frame and his well-featured face. He didn’t ever say much, but the words he spoke always counted. He’d step in when other men backed away. He was brave enough and cool enough to set the example of what was right and good. So I stepped in beside him. I was compelled to; we all were. I guess he had the kind of traits we wanted – and if we couldn’t _be_ those things, we’d be near them…

I was working in a hardware store when I first saw him standing in front of the town’s saloon. We fell into step together in the street, following some drunken cowboys who wanted to lynch Nathan for nothing worse than trying (and failing) to help. Chris and I won the gun-fight, we saved Nathan’s life in the process, we introduced ourselves, we gathered the other gunmen around us, and our little group was formed.

There was never any doubt who’d be the leader. Chris Larabee. How I felt about him back then – well, it could be described as a mild case of hero-worship. He stirred me. I stood taller when I was next to him. After a relatively blameless life of wandering about, turning my hand to anything and everything that offered itself, he made me want to do even better. I say _blameless_, even though the good citizens of Tascosa, Texas want me dead or alive for murder. The fact that I have a five hundred dollar price on my head is, as Ezra might say, the result of an unfortunate misunderstanding…

I’d have followed Chris anywhere – and I did. He had to insist I turn back when we rode into a Mexican town that was dangerous for him but absolutely deadly for me, given that it was full of men who I’d dealt with during my days as a bounty hunter.

He was tough but not hardened; his soul was harmed but not twisted awry. I respected him. It was a while before I realized I felt more than that.

♦

Chris Larabee hated fire. And who could blame him for that, after losing his wife and young son when their house burned down?

Of all of us, Buck knew him best: he and Chris had been friends for years. It wasn’t long before Buck told me the sad story of Chris’s bereavement. This source of information soon dried up again, however, and Buck just shook his head when I tried asking for more details… The town’s barber spread a tale about Chris holding a cutthroat razor to Buck’s jugular, warning him to be careful what he said about Chris and who he said it to, though I never knew whether that was exaggeration or not: the barber had a timid soul and might have overreacted, but I figured Chris was perfectly capable of threatening his best friend like that.

Our leader remained enigmatic, which wasn’t such a bad thing. Out here in the west, we judged a man mostly on what he did, less on what he said, and hardly at all on what his past was.

Where was I? Chris hated fire.

There were times, both before and after J.D. had stupidly volunteered to be Town Sheriff and Judge Travis bestowed a western kind of legitimacy on us – there were times when two or five or all seven of us wandered the countryside keeping an eye on things, times when we’d be out there tracking someone or running an errand or bringing a man to justice, times when there were no cowboys in town to keep under control. We did what we could for what seemed like good, though the lines between good and bad tend to blur in this time and place. Still, there were people who needed help, and we tried to help them.

When we were out in the wilderness, Chris never stayed for long around our campfire. He’d take first watch, whether we needed it or not, or he’d just wander away… I was curious, until I figured it out: Chris hated fire. Then I got even more curious.

There was a favor Judge Travis asked of J.D. that fall: that he’d meet a friend of the Judge’s with a shipment of gold on the western border, and escort him across the Territory to the eastern border. J.D. chose Chris, me and Nathan to accompany him, leaving Josiah, Buck and Ezra keeping an eye on things back in town.

Heading west, on our first night away, Chris wandered off in the cool of the evening as usual. And I followed him out there into the darkness, and watched him from a reasonable distance.

He was standing against a tree, staring up at the moon. Motionless, until he lifted one of his cigars to his lips, lit the thing, then angrily ground out the match’s flame beneath his boot-heel. He drew smoke into his lungs, savoring this little flirtation with fire and slow death… Sometimes I thought Chris hadn’t wanted to survive; he sure didn’t wear his funereal black due to a concern for fashion.

‘What are you thinking about, Vin?’

His rough voice startled me: I hadn’t figured he’d known I was there. ‘I must be losing my touch. I was trying for stealthy.’

‘Just shouldn’t think so loud,’ he muttered, though he cast me a brief smile from under his hat-brim. ‘Can hear the cogs grinding from here.’

It seemed he was in a talkative mood. I immediately decided to take advantage of it. ‘Don’t you get lonely?’

‘With you around?’ Chris drawled. ‘I don’t get the chance.’

‘I mean… Well, I’m talking about having a woman in your life.’

He shot me a glare; then, when I refused to be dissuaded, he tilted his face away, hiding behind his hat-brim.

‘When you talk about women,’ I continued, ‘you talk like Buck, as if you’re a seducer. But you’re not like that. I’ve hardly seen you with anyone in all these months. And that strikes me as sad, when there’s a woman like Mary Travis around…’

‘You like her so much, _you_ go courtin’ her.’

‘Nah. If she belongs with any of us, it’s you, Chris. You’d do each other a power of good. You’d understand each other: she lost a husband, you lost a wife –’

This time his glare did shut me up; it was as steely and deadly and direct as a pistol drawn in my face. But all Chris said was, ‘Is there anyone Buck _hasn’t_ told?’ The cool, careless tone only served to accentuate his anger. _Intensely private_ didn’t even begin to describe this man, this man still burdened with grief after three years. Not that I thought he should forget his wife and son; but surely anyone else would be living _with_ the grief by now, while Chris let the grief live through him.

‘I’m sorry,’ I muttered.

Chris’s stare had eased a little; now he was regarding me with a curiosity of his own. ‘Why are _you_ so interested, Vin?’

I had no answer for him, so I bluffed. ‘It’s a crime to be interested in a friend?’

A faint smile curved Chris’s lips, heightened the emotion in his eyes, though the handsome face remained unmoved. ‘I had it all once, what you’re talking about; I had love. But my wife’s dead. Never had another woman before her. There’s been someone since, on occasion, but not like what you’re talking about.’

‘That’s bleak.’

Those dark eyes caught a glint of moonlight as they looked at me, looked into me; I ducked my head to avoid him. Chris announced, ‘Mostly I get by with the alternative.’

‘Chastity,’ I assumed.

‘No.’

When I turned to him I found a very measured expression on his face. He waited for me to add it up. ‘Oh,’ was all I managed to say in response. Not that that was my only reaction to all this: I was hard, hard as the rock I rested my boot on. If anything, that was what confused me most.

‘You’d better get back,’ he said.

Chris’s eyes glinted some more as it became obvious I had succumbed to stupefaction.

‘They’ll be wondering where you are.’

His kindness in feeding me my exit lines was completely undermined by his flinty amusement at my expense. Not that I didn’t deserve some contempt for pushing so far only to be frightened off by what I found.

I nodded, turned away, and headed back to the campfire and the other men. I wasn’t in much of a mood for pleasant conversation, but luckily J.D. and Nathan had already settled for the night. Grabbing up my bedroll, I lay on the sandy ground with my back to them and the fire. The only thing required from me was a polite reply to J.D.’s ‘Goodnight, Mr. Tanner.’

The hell of it was, I was still hard. Chris’s revelation had somehow found its way right to the core of me. I barely slept that night; and Chris himself didn’t return to the campfire until the sun was up and Nathan had gotten the coffee boiling…

♦

So Chris Larabee made do with the affections of men. Why had this shaken me up so badly? I had the day to ponder it while we rode further west towards the Territory border. It didn’t take me that long to figure it out. Forget hero-worship: this was fascination I was feeling. All that noble stuff about standing taller when I was beside his strong frame, all those dispassionate observations of his handsome looks, it was just a cover for somewhat earthier instincts… Where this came from I had no clue; if I’d been aware of the physical attractions of my male friends before now, it had been a purely unconscious thing. Not an impossible thing, though, now that I was aware of it.

I watched Chris that day with my eyes newly-opened, admiring the way he rode, the easy way he moved as if he and his horse were one. Of course, _I_ wasn’t riding easily, not with my continuing response to the man. If he was aware of me and my scrutiny and my newfound yearnings, he didn’t betray as much. Maybe that was just Chris being his usual impassive self, or maybe it was due to him being pestered by J.D., who wanted to learn from Chris’s shooting skills.

‘Just a few tips, then, Mr. Larabee, if you don’t have the time to shoot targets with me.’ J.D. was begging so earnestly he’d even doffed his narrow-brimmed derby hat to hold it pressed over his heart; his shaggy dark hair added to the pathos of the scene.

‘Get Buck to teach you, kid,’ Chris finally said: ‘he’s the one been looking out for you.’

Such a respectful way to talk to our young Sheriff! However, J.D. didn’t seem to heed Chris’s irritability. ‘Mr. Wilmington?’ he protested. Luckily Buck was back in town, for he wouldn’t take kindly to being so slighted. ‘He’s fine, of course, but I want to learn from you.’

A brief silence, and then Chris observed, ‘Vin’s the sharpshooter. Ask him.’

‘No, sir, because _you’re_ the best of us, Mr. Larabee.’

‘Then God help us,’ muttered Chris, digging his heels in and trotting out to the front of our party.

♦

That night I waited a discreet half hour before following Chris away from the campfire. I found him leaning against a boulder, staring at the moon again. As soon as I appeared, Chris acknowledged me with a tip of his hat. ‘Vin.’ He’d been expecting me. Of course.

‘Chris.’ I walked up to him, propped myself against the boulder within arm’s reach. We stood there in silence for a while. The valley we’d reached just after nightfall spread before us, empty of civilization. Distant mountains loomed abruptly on the horizon, and I spared a thought for our passage through them tomorrow.

There could be only one topic of conversation between us tonight, however.

‘I never thought about this,’ I finally said; ‘not for me.’ I left a silence, but Chris didn’t choose to fill it. ‘You knew before I did,’ I said to him. ‘I’m here because I’m interested. And you already knew that last night.’

He shrugged. ‘It’ll pass.’

‘It hasn’t passed for you.’

‘Maybe I’m different.’

‘Yes, you are,’ I replied lightly, though trying to convey that his differences were all good things…

Chris turned away: just slightly, but far enough. ‘Maybe I have no choice. But you don’t want to learn my bad habits, Vin.’

I was being rebuffed. I wasn’t sure why. Chris was my friend, and I knew he liked me well enough. I wasn’t as dashing (or as vain) as Buck, but enough women had called me handsome for me to believe it. A few men had called me pretty, too, though I didn’t suppose they meant it the way Chris might mean it – if he wanted me. He didn’t want me. I didn’t know why, but then I knew next to nothing about how it might be between one man and another… I decided not to press the point, but instead to leave with dignity intact.

‘Goodnight, then, Chris,’ I said, politely tipping my hat, not wanting him to fear there’d be any resentments between us.

It would be suitably dramatic if I was able to say I suffered through another sleepless night, but that wasn’t the case: exhausted, I slept like the proverbial log. I was haunted by troublesome dreams, though, and I’m sure I did not look my best in the morning.

♦

‘Please, Mr. Larabee,’ J.D. began pleading once we were riding again. ‘I’ll ask the others to help me, too, but I want to start with you. I figure you’ll set me on the right path.’

Chris might not even have been listening for all the attention he spared the boy.

‘You’re fast, you’re accurate. I want to shoot like that, but I don’t know how yet.’

‘You’re _too_ fast,’ Chris observed out of the blue. The fact that such advice was forthcoming was so unexpected that we all began listening in earnest. ‘See that tree ahead of us, to the right? The Spanish oak. Shoot the trunk.’

Out flashed J.D.’s pistol, and within a moment he’d fired all six shots, fanning the hammer like a mad thing. His horse, better trained than her rider, remained steady. The tree lost a little foliage, but not one bullet found the trunk. ‘I was close,’ our fearless Sheriff asserted.

Chris disagreed. ‘No, you weren’t. You’re too fast, boy. You come out blazing away as if there’s no tomorrow.’

‘Yeah,’ the kid said proudly.

Shaking his head, Chris explained: ‘Taking a moment to think, to figure the angles, to aim – even though you only shoot once – is worth far more than firing six bullets in desperation. If you’re up against someone who knows that, he’ll be cooler than you. He’ll wait until you’ve emptied your gun – and you won’t have got him, J.D., you won’t even have grazed him. Then he’ll take his time and drop you with one shot.’

J.D. considered this. ‘I don’t notice you taking a moment, Mr. Larabee.’

‘You practice that, you practice pausing for thought. If you take care with it, you’ll become so fast you’ll do it by instinct, and no one will ever realize. And _then_ you’ll be a halfway decent gunman.’

‘Yes, sir.’ There was a trace of resentment in the youngster’s voice.

We’d ridden another mile or so before Chris said, ‘Try it again. That tree up there. But only one bullet this time.’

J.D. glanced at him, slowly drew his pistol, and deliberately took aim, squinting hard as if to prove that he was thinking. A long moment drifted by. J.D. was, of course, going about it all wrong, tensing up too far and quashing all instinct. But he was in control for once, and that was saying something. At last a shot rang out, and a chip of wood flew off a branch about a foot to the left of the tree trunk.

‘Better,’ Chris pronounced. ‘Maybe your sights are off. Vin can help you with that.’

I tipped my hat to indicate willingness.

J.D. turned his grin from me back to Chris. ‘Yes, sir, Mr. Larabee. Thank you, sir.’

Chris gave him a cool nod, and I watched as the boy let his horse fall back a little. At least J.D. was trying to follow the lesson, even if it went against the youngster’s enthusiastic grain. Those of us with somewhat more experience knew that this was indeed the advice J.D. could most benefit from right now.

When I finished pondering J.D., I naturally returned my attention to Chris. It seemed repetitive to still be admiring his physique and his authority, but I was nowhere near done yet. I appreciated that there was nothing inessential about him: there was no excess on his lean frame; there was nothing extravagant about his manner. I reflected on the fact that his toughness and his reticence were due to emotional scarring, which only proved that when he did care, he cared deeply. This was a man I liked a great deal. This was a man I wanted. This was a man I apparently wasn’t going to have.

When we stopped briefly for a midday meal, I told Chris he’d given J.D. exactly the right advice. ‘If he can learn from that, he’ll live a lot longer.’

‘If he was even listening,’ Chris muttered. He dropped the butt of his cigar, and ground the ember out with his heel, habitual anger in the gesture.

‘Of course he was listening: he values what you say.’

‘Well, I’ll work on it with him when we get back to town.’

My face creased into a puzzled but appreciative frown. ‘What changed your mind about helping him?’

Chris looked at me, very directly. After a time he said, ‘If a man wants something so badly he’s _that_ persistent, who am I to tell him no?’

Before I was even aware of it, a smile had ambushed me. Chris remained cool and serious, and he turned away a moment later. But I couldn’t have quit grinning right then if my life had depended on it.

♦

He was leaning back against a tree, staring at the moon which had risen full and large and almost golden tonight. The tree was bent back at a leisurely angle, so that Chris appeared utterly comfortable; the forces that had curved the sapling so far out of its natural path were long gone, and the scene now was peaceful. Chris had one knee cocked, his booted foot resting against the trunk, so that my eye was drawn to his long legs, fine in their black cloth. His face was as cool as ever, and the moonlight did nothing to show me the heat his eyes would sometimes convey in excitement or conviction.

Nevertheless I found the nerve to say, ‘I’m being persistent, Chris.’

And he lifted a hand, palm up, to welcome me.

I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t that. It wasn’t that.

I got close, and he pulled me into his arms, so that my weight lay against his and we were both borne by the tree. It seemed an unlikely, untenable situation. And yet… I was so hot for this, so hard, that I was in no mind to argue or even dissemble.

There was no kiss – but he caressed my face with his, cheek to stubbled cheek, fingers working to loosen the dusty old scarf at my neck, face following to bury itself against my throat and shoulder. It was as good as a kiss. Better.

He was ready for it, too. We barely separated – indeed, we could not, our combined weight keeping us locked into a precarious and close embrace – but we fumbled our way past heavy cloth, approached our goals amidst hunger and confusion. There was still a layer of cotton between our hands and the evidence of our need, but that was hardly a barrier. The heat of the act was… a humid southern summer night… ironically fertile in this dry desert place.

And it was, of course, over in moments. Hot, delicious, weighty, wonderful moments. Chris groaned against my collarbone, and he shuddered as dampness spread into my palm; I was so taken with the fact that _I_ had caused that, I was barely aware of following him.

Peace for a moment, as I sank even closer against him. A sweet feeling, like warm spicy mead. The act had had more of beauty about it than I expected, less of oddness. It had been simple (which was just as well for this untutored creature) yet something about it ached profoundly.

Soon Chris’s hands offered a caress of my shoulders, my flanks; and then he firmly put me away from him, stood me on my own two feet. Which wasn’t exactly where I wanted to be. Slowly, with a wryness to his manner, he rearranged his clothing. I followed suit. Then he nodded, meeting my gaze, with a note of gratitude and a stronger note of farewell…

I took the hint and made my way back towards the campfire and our friends. Nathan and J.D. were still awake, sharing a bottle of liquor and idle conversation. Feeling ill-prepared to be companionable, I took a swig of the fierce drink they offered, then collected my bedroll and settled for the night. They didn’t seem to take it amiss.

I’d had what I wanted. And all I knew right then was that I wanted more.

♦

More was exactly what I didn’t get. We met up with the Judge’s friend, Mr. William Harting, the next day; his Californian companions headed home, and we turned around and started escorting Harting and his riches across the Territory towards the border of New Mexico. I liked the old guy well enough, but I wasn’t too thrilled by the task we were performing, because Chris took it so damned seriously: Chris didn’t once leave the vicinity of our nightly campfire during the entire journey. Even when he was taking watch, he stayed close by, and it was obvious he wouldn’t let his attention be diverted. For all his reputation, and for all his talk of being but one step removed from an outlaw, Chris was a responsible and decent man.

While I appreciated that, I have rarely felt so frustrated. Just as I make this mysterious, miraculous discovery, I’m prevented from exploring it! It was tough sometimes, remaining calm and polite, but no one seemed to notice anything untoward; even Nathan, the most empathic of our friends, appeared oblivious to any change in my temper. As for Chris, he might have been completely oblivious, too, for all that he acknowledged to me; but I’d known from the first there was always far more going on beneath his impassive surface than Chris ever let on.

Chris’s scrupulousness paid off on the last morning of our trip east: we were set upon by six men. While we were outnumbered, and while they’d chosen an excellent position from which to ambush us, we had an important advantage. Seeing the trail narrowing ahead as it began climbing up through cliffs at the head of a valley, Chris had sent J.D. on before us to scout around. Even as the rest of us came under fire, J.D. surprised our attackers by sneaking up behind the group to the south.

As planned, Nathan got Harting sheltered beneath his sturdy little cart, and stayed by him, providing what covering fire he could. Chris and I each found rocks to either side of the trail, and crouched there, trying to pick off our ambushers. After a frustrating time of exchanging shots, we began making progress: Chris wounded one man enough for him to withdraw, and I did the same, plus it seemed I killed one – he was lying there unmoving, anyways, and he was out of the fight.

That’s when the remaining three got desperate. They broke away from their positions, and began making their way down the steep slopes towards us. Behind us, Nathan quietly cried out as if he’d been hit, but I couldn’t spare a glance to check on him. Again, Chris and I each picked one off. But that still left one man, and he had enough cover on his way down to keep him safe. Once he got to us, of course, we’d take him out – but he must have known that, and we had to figure he was planning on taking at least one of us with him. We had to figure he was slightly crazed… Chris and I covered for each other while we took turns reloading.

Young J.D. Dunne saved the day. J.D. sprang up behind the last ambusher, and started blazing away. Four shots gone, five, and nary a scratch on the man, even though he was an easy target. But that’s when Chris’s advice belatedly sunk in.

The kid had nerve, I had to give him that. He stopped, let his gun-hand fall, and he considered the man. And then – even as the ambusher was turning on J.D. and levelling his gun – J.D. took careful aim, and hit his mark. As the man fell, his shot went whistling over J.D.’s derby hat.

It was over. Two bullets had taken some skin and flesh off Nathan’s thigh, but the bleeding wasn’t serious. Our healer had soon taken care of himself and was tending to the wounds of the one ambusher who hadn’t managed to either run off or die already.

Excitement over, we rode on until a group of New Mexican lawmen arrived to take on responsibility for Mr. Harting. We checked their credentials; Harting shook our hands, paid us handsomely, and sent his compliments to the Judge; and then the four of us turned around and headed back to town.

♦

The journey took three days – and, more importantly for me, two nights. Both nights I waited half an hour after Chris had wandered away from the campfire, and I followed him. Both nights he was waiting for me, leaning back against a tree or a boulder; both nights he welcomed me, and we recreated the seductive heat and delicious friction of that first encounter. Both nights we remained wordless, though I tried to communicate through a glance or a brief touch my fondness for him and my gratitude. My sense of wonder must have been more than evident.

We arrived back in town, and the seven of us spent the evening drinking whisky in the saloon. J.D. had a fine time spinning a wild tale out of our little adventure; he veritably glowed with pride when Chris confirmed that our young Sheriff had indeed saved not only his own life but probably at least one of our lives as well. Buck looked as proud as a father might; he expressed as much by knocking J.D.’s silly hat off, and wrestling with the kid when he tried to retrieve it.

Eventually Chris announced he was turning in for the night, and he left with a courteous nod for all of us. He barely even glanced at me, but I appreciated the need for discretion.

Half an hour later, I said my goodnights and meandered off, heading indirectly for Chris’s room at the boarding house. He was waiting for me, standing by the window, staring out at the moon… ‘Vin,’ he murmured, not turning around, as I walked in and closed the door behind me.

‘Chris.’ I stood there for a moment, contemplating the situation with some contentment; I had no idea how we’d approach this, given that Chris’s bed was there, looming significantly between us… Maybe he wanted me to go over to him where he stood, and he’d simply lean back against the wall and welcome me into his arms as he’d done three times before. Or maybe I’d be brave enough to suggest trying this while lying down in comfort…

‘We can’t do this here, Vin.’

It took a moment for the quiet words to sink in. Disappointment followed hard on their heels, though I still hoped I could answer any objections he might raise. I remained silent.

Eventually Chris turned around to face me, though he was silhouetted by the moonlight which made it difficult for me to read his expression. He explained, ‘This town, it’s getting too civilized for the likes of me.’

Something clutched up tight in my chest. _Something_, I dishonestly call it – when I know all about what fear feels like. ‘You’re moving on?’

A long pause, before Chris shook his head in the negative. There was a doubting quality to the gesture, though, as if he wasn’t entirely clear about his own motives for sticking around.

But if it wasn’t that, then what was causing his discomfort? It seemed odd to think Chris Larabee would care about people’s disapproval. Nevertheless, I tried: ‘There’s only the two of us need ever know what happens in this room, Chris. Or in my room,’ I offered, ‘if that makes a difference.’

‘Ah,’ he drawled, ‘people would figure it out.’

‘Is it really a conclusion anyone’s gonna leap to?’

‘If they’re paying attention, it is. If they’re curious.’

I nodded, figuring I knew who (besides our five friends) he was referring to. Journalists are curious and observant creatures, aren’t they? ‘Chris, if Mrs Travis thought you were part of the _bad element_ she’s always editorializing about, she’d have run you out of town by now. And you know she’s perfectly capable of doing that all by herself.’

He smiled in rueful agreement; then he muttered, ‘She don’t know me.’

‘She knows enough to see you’re a good man,’ I firmly replied. When Chris turned away, I added with more vehemence, ‘_I_ know you better than she does, and _I_ know you’re a good man.’

‘No need to make this a melodrama, Vin. It’s no big deal.’

I pushed on regardless. ‘There’s a place in this town for you, Chris. And for whoever you share your bed with. If you don’t shove their faces in it. Unless you don’t want to be here.’

Another silence, and nothing but his tense shoulder-blades for me to read. I’d pushed too far.

But eventually Chris said, ‘There’ll always be one thing I have to do before I move on. So don’t go thinking I might just up and vanish one day…’

‘What’s that?’

‘Go to Tascosa with you, to help clear your name.’

I didn’t know what to say. Even though I’d only met the man a few months ago, I’d never had a friend as constant as Chris. Eventually I murmured, ‘Thanks.’

He nodded curtly.

Figuring I’d just gotten something far more precious from that encounter than the physical gratification I’d been hoping for, I wished him goodnight and left him in peace. At least, in what passed for peace in Chris’s world.

♦

Another evening in the saloon, which was where we all tended to congregate, unless business took us to the Sheriff’s Office, or some other instinct drove us towards the church that Josiah was fixing up.

Chris led the way over to our usual table, and settled back into a chair, hooking one boot heel up on the rung of the chair to his right. He looked so effortlessly comfortable; if we’d been out in the wilderness maybe he would have lifted his arms now, welcomed me into his embrace. But we were in town. I sat in the chair beside him, conscious of his thigh so close we were almost touching, and I echoed his relaxed posture. If I wasn’t careful, people would figure us out just from the sensuality that occasionally seduced me in his presence. Chris, at least, knew exactly what I had on my mind, for he smiled lazily at me.

Buck, Josiah and Ezra were already there; J.D. soon bustled in, all business and bravado. ‘Gentlemen,’ he announced, ‘I need someone to take Jeremiah Denton over to Phoenix.’ Denton was a man J.D. had recently arrested for cattle rustling and horse stealing, the latter being a hanging offence of course. ‘Judge Travis wants to try him there, with a full jury, the sooner the better because our main witness’ll be leaving the Territory within the week.’

There was a moment of silence as we all looked at each other, waiting for somebody else to volunteer.

J.D. continued, ‘I was thinking maybe Buck and Josiah…’

Buck had started shaking his head before J.D. even said his name. ‘Let me fill you in: for those of you who’ve had your minds on less noble pursuits, one Miss Emily Gustavson arrived on the stage two days ago, and my… ah… negotiations with her have already reached a delicate phase. I can’t leave town now and let someone else reap the rewards of all my hard work!’

Used to being laughed at, Buck didn’t seem to mind us finding his latest grand seduction amusing rather than commendable.

Chris said, ‘I’ll do it.’ What with all the teasing going on, it took us a moment to realize what he’d said, but at last we each quietened down and turned to him. Chris barely glanced at me before adding, ‘I’ll take Vin.’

Once more I was ambushed by a particularly happy smile.

J.D., however, was protesting. ‘But you guys, and me and Nathan, we’ve only just gotten back from escorting Mr. Harting… Someone else can take a turn.’

‘That’s all right,’ I managed to assure him, trying to be as cool as Chris and no doubt failing miserably. ‘We’ll do it.’

We left town the next morning with Denton in tow. And I guess it don’t need explaining what we did each night on the way back…

♦

A good horse was one of a man’s most valuable possessions in the west: without a horse he couldn’t travel far without depending on others, he couldn’t perform more than a very few kinds of work, he certainly couldn’t hope to raise cattle, and on top of that he could get pretty lonely, too. Decent replacements were rare, and often extremely costly. So during the day, the seven of us haunted the stables, taking care of our mounts, and mending our riding gear.

It wasn’t extraordinary for me and Chris to happen to meet there one lazy afternoon. Perhaps it was a little unusual that the stable boy was off running errands, and the other men had either gone already or were yet to show up. I watched Chris for a while as he curried his horse, brushing her coat with firm but careful strokes until it shone. He was dressed in shirtsleeves; and the thick cotton of his trousers seemed to lovingly mold itself around the curves and the planes of his slim form.

Eventually I forced myself to tend my own horse… Hazy sunbeams found their way through the haphazard gaps between the planks of the westerly wall, casting a drowsy spell over our silent work. The horses were warm and powerful and quiet, ears twitching as if they sensed something intense yet harmless was about to occur.

‘Do you feel like going for a ride later?’ Chris murmured.

I’m sure he wasn’t intending the invitation to be provocative, but I immediately shot back, ‘I’ll _tell_ you what I feel like doing…’

He smiled at me, those eyes of his all hot and dark; and he shook his head, amused at my daring.

‘It’s not too civilized in here, is it?’ I continued suggestively. ‘Here with the animals…’

Ducking his head behind his horse’s strong neck, I heard him let out a harsh breath; I realized it was poorly suppressed laughter. His eyes were almost dancing when they met mine again over the backs of both horses. ‘I never counted on you being so damned persistent, Vin Tanner…’

This confused me a little. ‘You thought I wouldn’t want it? Or I wouldn’t want it more than once?’ How puzzling.

Chris shrugged, the gesture easy and graceful. ‘I didn’t think at all. I should have.’ A moment stretched, and then he confessed, ‘Never done this with a friend before.’

A smile crashed through me, left me dazed. ‘You know what I’m gonna do, Chris Larabee?’ I began to advance on him, pacing around the rear of my horse and then down the side of his, running my hands reassuringly along their flanks so they wouldn’t get startled. ‘And don’t try telling me there’s a taboo about this.’

He lifted an inquiring eyebrow, not moving from where he stood.

I was almost there. I ducked under his horse’s reins, and took another step closer. It’s not that I had him cornered: he simply wasn’t going anywhere. I announced, ‘I am going to kiss you.’

That mouth of his quirked into a genuine smile. ‘I never figured you’d be so demanding,’ he drawled… but he rested his shoulders back against his horse with the barest hint of – not surrender, but acquiescence.

I followed him, my mouth hungry for his, my hands reaching for him. And then we were kissing, feeling our way through something that was new – I was certain it was new – for both of us. Stubble, and strength, and stubbornness. And the overwhelming need. We both needed this. God, it was so damned good. It was so damned involving that neither of us noticed when J.D. arrived…

When it belatedly dawned on us that we had company, we didn’t spring apart. We didn’t pretend that either of us were doing anything other than kissing another man. I simply stood straighter, and I met J.D.’s gaze, and I refused to color up even when I realized that Chris’s hands were resting at my waist.

Stranded halfway into the stables, J.D. was gaping. Maybe he’d never even known this kind of thing occurred, let alone suspected that two of his friends indulged in it. All around us, the horses were tensing up, sensing something wasn’t right.

‘J.D.,’ I softly began.

Which was when the youngster turned tail and ran.

I looked back at Chris. ‘I’d better, er –’

He nodded, and I reluctantly stepped away; my skin felt cool where his hands had been. Before I’d even taken a second step, Chris was brushing his horse again, as if he didn’t care.

When I made it outside, I found J.D. stranded once more: this time he was standing in the middle of the street, looking about him in desperation. I wondered if he wanted guidance, and if he’d look to Buck for that – and I wondered what on earth Buck would say about the matter.

J.D. saw me waiting by the stables, he froze for a moment – and then he bolted, one hand keeping his hat securely on his head… And it wasn’t Buck he turned to; J.D. ran into the church, and hollered for Josiah.

I followed at a slower pace, and settled myself on the stoop to await further developments. The fact that I could eavesdrop from there should have dissuaded me, but it didn’t. I looked around to see which of our reputable townsfolk had noticed what was going on, but luckily for us it was a particularly hot afternoon and most people were safely inside their homes or the few stores or the saloon.

In the church, J.D. was unsuccessfully trying to explain what he was so wound up about. ‘Mr. Larabee and Vin – Vin Tanner. You know? They were in the stables. They were – well, they were – Oh, it’s horrible.’

‘What?’ Josiah asked in his deep rumble. ‘They were what?’

‘Dear Lord, it’s a sin, isn’t it? Like a man and a woman. But they’re men. Don’t you know about them? Surely someone knows about this. They were –’

Perhaps a gesture conveyed the message, or perhaps it was easier for Josiah to leap to such a conclusion than I’d assumed. What else could have upset J.D. so much, after all? Josiah would know Chris and I weren’t capable of real torture, we weren’t interested in devil-worship, and neither of us had been abusing the horses.

‘Really?’ Josiah asked, drawing out the vowel. He sounded rather interested. ‘Do you mean you actually witnessed them…?’

‘Kissing,’ J.D. spat. ‘They were kissing. On the mouth!’

‘Ah… And this troubles you?’

‘Of course it does! It’s wrong. It’s horrible.’ And then doubt crept into his voice. ‘Isn’t it?’

‘Well, J.D.,’ Josiah rumbled. I could just picture this giant of a man sitting down on a pew near the pacing youngster, and giving J.D. his most earnest expression. ‘Do you know what it says in the Bible? It says there’s a time for all things on this good earth. A time to dance and a time to mourn. A time to live and a time to die. A time for the love of women and a time for the love of men.’

A long silence stretched.

And then J.D. burst out, ‘It does not!’ Footsteps indicated he was virtually running back down the aisle. ‘That’s not in the Scriptures!’

Josiah actually laughed; a great big happy belly laugh. ‘Well, it should be,’ he called out.

‘You call yourself a man of God?’ Poor J.D. sounded quite disgusted. He abruptly flew out of the church – and again froze when he saw me. Misery and wariness thickly painted his features, but it didn’t seem to be worse than that. It wasn’t fear.

I said, as unthreateningly as I knew how, ‘Is there something you want to say to me, J.D.? Or ask me?’

‘No…’ He shot a glance towards the stables. ‘And there’s nothing I want to say to Mr. Larabee, either. Nothing at all. You should tell him I said that.’ Which was when an ounce of terror showed through the cracks.

‘J.D.,’ I said softly, ‘you have nothing to fear from Chris, or from me. I promise you that.’

‘Leave me be!’ he cried out.

‘All right.’ And I stayed exactly where I was, watching him run for the saloon. Perhaps the poor boy would get drunk; perhaps he’d seek counsel closer to what he wanted to hear from Buck; perhaps Chris and I would find ourselves in a whole lot of trouble. I could guess at Mary Travis’s editorial: vague references to the worst kind of sinners, triumphant descriptions of casting such miserable wretches from the town’s bosom, predictions of a sulfurous afterlife for the unrepentant…

Josiah had wandered out to stand beside me on the church’s stoop, and was considering me with some amazement, as if he hadn’t figured I had such interesting perverseness in me. ‘Huh,’ was his verdict. ‘A time to crave destruction and a time to accept peace.’

Precious little of this affair had felt peaceful.

‘You know, Vin, Chris needs someone like you,’ the giant declared: ‘good-humored, even-tempered, steadfast. Don’t let him tell you otherwise.’

I politely tipped my hat to him in acknowledgment, and headed off to find Chris.

♦

Chris was angry. I’d tracked him back to his room, where he was sorting through his saddlebags. It looked as if he was packing to go. I quietly closed the door behind me, and waited.

Eventually he announced, ‘I know what you want. But I can’t give it to you.’

‘I’ll take what you can give,’ I said softly.

He glared at me in reply.

I suppose for any other pair this would have been an argument. Chris was speaking very quietly, no doubt aware of his neighbors and the thin boarding-house walls; nevertheless his intensity was as fierce as I’d ever seen it. As for me, I’d only ever raised my voice to scoundrels, and that wasn’t going to change now.

Eventually Chris said, ‘There’s nothing I can give you. Get out of here, Vin.’

‘No,’ I whispered, surprising even myself with my stubbornness.

‘It’s time to move on.’ A cryptic comment that deepened my fear. Chris finally elaborated, ‘This town doesn’t want us. It never really has.’

With a painful renewal of hope I asked, ‘Tascosa?’

Chris turned to look at me very levelly for one of the longest moments of my life. At last he said, ‘Sure. Let’s get that done.’

But it felt all wrong. Even though his promise to help me clear my name was probably my best chance for staying beside him right now, I had to reply, ‘No. Not yet.’ How could I face all that, when everything else was so unsettled?

‘Well, it’s time to get out of here for a while.’ He buckled up his saddlebags, and flung them over one shoulder. ‘Ed Mundy’s widow wants an escort to Tucson. She’s taking the train back east.’

‘I’m coming with you,’ I murmured.

Chris looked hard at me again. ‘All right.’ But I knew all too well that no matter how stubborn he was letting me be, Chris would be even stubborner.

♦

What had hurt Chris so badly that he would not heal?

So many of us out here had lost our friends and our loved ones. Mostly, we survived. More than that: mostly, we got on with our lives. Why had Chris Larabee taken the hurt so deeply to his heart? Could he have considered it such an unlikely miracle to be loved, that he assumed it could never happen again? Did he love _so very much_ when he loved, and he couldn’t bear to risk the pain it might bring? Did he take responsibility so damned seriously, that he couldn’t stand to fail so badly? He was all the more intriguing.

Lately I’d supposed he had begun healing, just a little. He’d been letting his hair grow longer, and the less severe look suited him. He’d begun wearing a grey or a wine-red shirt rather than a black one; and he was often seen in the colorfully-striped poncho that Josiah had given him. He’d even helped Mary’s young son Billy face his demons, though that had forced Chris to confront a few of his own. There was some progress being made, though there seemed too long a way to go.

I had been calling my feelings for him fascination, but that was dishonest. Somewhere along the way I had grown to love this man. Which meant that right now disappointment was an ache through my gut, because I knew he intended to end what we’d begun. No, forget disappointment: this was grief. But the grief didn’t really change anything. Chris Larabee was, first and foremost, my friend. I would stick beside him, under any circumstances, through thick and thin. He deserved that kind of loyalty. And I’d take what he could give me in return: he was a fool to underestimate what his friendship was worth.

Chris and I exchanged maybe three words throughout the slow ride to Tucson. We took care of Jess Mundy, we fixed a broken wheel on her wagon, we tended the horses, we arranged the food, all in virtually silent cooperation. And Chris would wander away from the campfire each evening, and I would yearn to follow him. Mrs Mundy didn’t seem to notice anything wrong: she didn’t seem to expect much from Chris, and was content to keep company with me. We reached Tucson, and helped Mrs Mundy sell off the wagon and the other gear she wasn’t taking home with her.

And then her train pulled out, and Chris and I were alone.

♦

We each drank one too many shots of whisky that night, sitting in the bar at the hotel we’d taken rooms at. I felt just as morose as Chris was looking; we didn’t talk. Maybe we should have just turned around and started the ride back to town once Mrs Mundy was gone. Maybe we should have been out there alone together in the wilderness.

One of the working girls had been smiling at me all evening, though I hadn’t been encouraging her. Having no better prospects, eventually she came over, wriggled her way onto my lap, and said, ‘Mister, I’d have to charge double to bed a beautiful man like you.’

I couldn’t help but laugh. ‘Don’t you mean you’d charge half?’

‘Oh, no,’ she airily replied, ‘because if you’re as nice on the inside as you are on the outside, I’d be in danger of regaining my faith in humanity.’

‘Ma’am, it sounds like I’d be paying extra for the extravagant compliments.’

We shared a laugh, then, like normal people did when negotiating such matters. She leaned in close – awareness of her attractiveness swept through me – and she whispered, ‘I have a friend for your friend. He’s a handsome man, too.’

‘Yes, he is,’ I replied with a touch of honest fervor. But when I looked over at Chris, he was staring impassively elsewhere, as if none of this had anything to do with him. I turned back to the woman resting so provocatively on my thighs and places north. ‘I’m sorry, but I don’t think tonight’s the best night for this, tempting though you are.’

She had the grace to pout in disappointment, and to wriggle some more as she climbed off my lap, but then she was gone.

My eye was drawn as Chris stood up as well. He drained his last mouthful of spirits, and then headed off towards the stairs that led up toward the hotel’s bedrooms. And I knew I had to let him go. I could be as tenacious in loving him as I wanted, but if Chris didn’t want to respond in kind, then I knew I had to let him be. A gentleman had the right to be who he was, no more and no less, without any interference from me. I’d never had any trouble adhering to that philosophy before now.

But then, as Chris set foot on the first stair, he paused and turned his head to look at me. The briefest of enigmatic gazes from those dark eyes, and then he was climbing, all alone, with his back straight and tall.

My heart was pounding. That glance had been as much of an invitation as I could possibly hope for. An invitation I found impossible to refuse. This entire thing might prove to be a dreadful mistake, but I set my glass down, and followed Chris up the stairs and along the corridor to his room.

♦

Inside it was dark, with just enough firelight and moonlight coming in through the parted curtains for me to see where I was. Chris was slowly taking off his hat and his gun-belt, setting them aside on the table by the bed. He didn’t light the lamp.

I loved that man, but I was also haunted by the feeling that this was a mistake. ‘What am I doing here with you?’ I asked in despair. Despite that, I’d already turned away and begun disrobing.

‘I don’t know,’ Chris said in his lovely rough voice.

‘Maybe I should be with that woman. The one who thinks I’m beautiful.’

‘Go, if you want.’

I was already down to my boots, trousers and undershirt; my clothes and other stuff were piled on the only chair in the room. In worn tones, I said, ‘Shut up, Larabee.’

That startled him into silence; it was by far the rudest I’d ever been with him.

‘I’ve been thinking,’ I said, dragging my boots off, ‘maybe you should really be with Mary Travis. Maybe she’d be best for you.’ _She can give you another son_, is what I wouldn’t ever dare say; _I can’t_.

But Chris said, ‘She deserves better than me.’

I considered that as I pushed my trousers down, and then my undershirt. Leaving aside my rather partial notion that there _was_ no one better than Chris, I couldn’t help but observe, ‘She deserves your friendship. And that’s what she’s got.’ After all, friendship was a damned precious thing between men and women in this time and place.

Everything was silent behind me. I had already heard Chris settling on the bed. Now he was waiting for me.

Finally I was game enough to declare, ‘_I_ deserve you.’ And, utterly naked, I turned around.

Chris was still fully-clothed. I felt like a fool, but he didn’t betray the slightest amusement at my expense – instead, he lifted a hand in welcome. As I drew closer, I saw that his boots were off, and his trousers were undone. It was a start.

I lay down over him, his clothes rough and dusty against my skin. But even while he took me into a familiar embrace, he told me, ‘I’ve done love, Vin – or it’s done me – and I’m not doing it again.’

‘All right,’ I managed. And then I pushed in even closer in order to kiss him…

The sex we shared that night was hot and difficult and wonderful. Despite all my doubts, I was ready within moments. I fumbled with his trousers, kissing him all the while, trying to get through all the layers of fabric to his flesh… At last finding my goal, with no cooperation from him, I decided to approach this somewhat differently. Usually, we chased each other’s pleasure with our hands. This time, I simply lay over him again, aligning myself with him; and I moved in long lazy gentle thrusts, the way I would have with a woman I cared this much about. I had no idea whether it would be any good, whether it would even be enough, but I soon discovered I liked it. I liked it very much indeed.

Chris’s hands stroked my shoulders, my flanks, and then eased lower to mold palms and fingers over my buttocks. He began encouraging my rhythm, guiding me and following me all at once, his fingers kneading… It was already something close to divine.

And still his mouth engaged with mine, creating and devouring sensation, creating and devouring, in an endless cycle.

Except that it wasn’t, of course, endless. Soon Chris was shuddering beneath me, and his seed pulsed out molten against my skin as his fingers clutched me hard against him, and I followed him into that little scrap of heaven we are blessed with here on earth.

‘Oh God,’ I murmured, distraught, ‘oh God;’ calling on a Savior who I knew had given up on me long years ago.

Chris lifted his hands, and stroked my hair with as much tenderness as I’d ever witnessed in him.

‘I burn up with you,’ I confessed. And then I realized what a stupid, hurtful thing I’d just said. Wincing, burying my face in the pillow beside his, I muttered, ‘God. Sorry.’

His hands forgave me. I eased my weight off him, and lay by his side, and we held each other close for minutes or maybe hours. Sleep wanted to claim me, and I wanted to surrender to it – but even more than that I wanted to revel in Chris’s embrace. We had never done this before, and I couldn’t rely on it ever happening again.

But eventually I drifted off into dreams. At some stage I was dimly aware of him carefully pulling away, covering me with a blanket, and then hauling his boots on: intending to go outside and stare at the moon again, I assumed. Letting him be, I sank further into his bed, and my thoughts slipped peacefully away.

♦

I was unconscious for one of the more dangerous experiences of my life; if it wasn’t for Chris, I’d have been dead and not even known about it until the smell of brimstone woke me. Chris would have been dead, too, if he’d stayed in bed with me.

The hotel in Tucson burned down.

The fire started simply enough: an oil lamp got knocked over, the wooden building was tinder-dry, we’d had no rain for months. I was asleep, and the smoke took me deeper into unconsciousness, and (small mercy) it would have held me there while I burned.

But the next thing I was aware of, I was lying in the dirt of the street outside, coughing my lungs out, and Chris was kneeling over me, lit by the fires of hell… The glow suited him: the handsome bastard was all golden-skinned, his clothes were all black – and singed. The material of his shirt was smoking slightly across his shoulders, and when he lifted a hand to my face, I saw that his skin would blister.

As for me, I was naked but for a sheet I was wrapped in.

Chris cradled me while the coughing racked my poor body, and then he carefully lowered me back to the ground once the worst of it was over. ‘Chris?’ I whispered, trying not to exacerbate my raw throat.

‘The hotel’s burning,’ he explained, apparently seeing my confusion. His gesture invited me to look for myself: when I twisted around, I saw flames were taking the entire building, and the one right next to it. The townsfolk were desperately throwing buckets of water into it, and onto the surrounding places; entire towns had been lost from a fire spreading. ‘They’ll contain it,’ Chris announced. ‘There’s no wind to carry it any further.’

Frankly, I was less concerned with Tucson, and more with Chris Larabee. I lay flat again, and gazed up at the man. He was staring with a deadly cold intensity at the fire. We were close enough to feel its heat. Eventually I rasped, ‘You went into _that_, and saved me?’

After a moment he looked down at me; humor sparked in his eyes and quirked his mouth. ‘Well, don’t go taking it personally, Vin. I’d have done the same for anyone.’

‘You would?’

‘You think that was hard for me? It’s no big deal.’ The humor had gotten lost again in his seriousness. ‘I’ve done it before.’ And he was unbuttoning his shirt so furiously that most of it ripped. ‘You think I’ve never saved anyone else?’ And, kneeling before me, he held his shirt and undershirt open far enough so I could see the burn-scars all down his right side, disappearing below the waistband of his trousers.

‘Oh, Chris,’ I whispered sorrowfully. I’m not ashamed to say the tears in my eyes weren’t only due to the smoke.

Chris’s lips twisted into an odd smile. ‘Ah,’ he drawled, ‘I should have known you’d get all sentimental on me.’

‘Your family?’

Gaze dropping, he seemed lost in contemplation for a moment or two. ‘No, I was too late. Didn’t get there until the next day.’ Oblivious to the people milling around gawking not so far away, he confessed, ‘I should have been there.’

I reached a hand out of the sheet, and lay it comfortingly on his thigh. ‘It’s not your fault that you weren’t, Chris.’

Not even reacting to that, he asked, ‘Remember Fowler?’

As if I could forget: following a lead that was three years old, the seven of us had tried to find the men responsible for the deaths of Sarah and Adam Larabee. We’d found Fowler, who’d arranged the matter. Rather than tell us who’d paid him to do it, though, Fowler had turned away and walked into a burning barn.

‘I should have followed him into that barn,’ Chris said.

My heart tightened painfully. ‘No, Chris. No, you shouldn’t.’ When he shrugged that off, I decided on a complete change of topic. Glancing at the flames and charred timbers that used to be a hotel, I lightly complained, ‘You know how many years I’d had that hat? It was my favorite hat. And my boots – I only just rode them in. Getting to feel like a second skin at last.’

A long moment stretched, in which I feared I’d said a stupid, hurtful thing again. But then Chris let out an involuntary laugh.

‘So, the sum total of my worldly possessions right now,’ I continued, ‘is this sheet, and my horse – tell me the stables didn’t burn.’

‘The stables are fine.’ Of course: they were at the other end of town.

‘– and you,’ I concluded my list. ‘A sheet, my horse, my best friend. I’m gonna be real uncomfortable riding home in a sheet…’

Another laugh. ‘Oh, no need to worry about that, Vin.’

There was a slight note of mania to him. Chris stood, and began walking back towards the fire with a halting gait. Forget fear: terror clutched at me. I scrambled to my feet, the sheet hampering me and probably revealing more than it should have to the townsfolk. ‘Chris!’ I hobbled off after him as fast as I could. ‘Chris!’

But even before I’d taken five steps, he’d turned around with a bundle in his arms. ‘It’s all right, Vin,’ he said with exaggerated patience once he was beside me again. Even while he shepherded me back from the worst of the heat, his eyes mocked my melodramatic notions.

I didn’t apologize, and only partly because I was about to lose the last remnants of my voice.

‘Here,’ he finally said, setting the bundle down on the dirt of the street. It was the bedspread from the hotel, with the four corners tied together; Chris opened it up, and I saw my clothes and my gear, and Chris’s hat. ‘I checked you were still breathing,’ he explained, ‘then I gathered this up and tossed it out the window.’

I smiled my thanks at him.

And that was when the local doctor finally made his way over to us. ‘How’re you doin’, boys?’

‘He’s fine,’ Chris said.

Which didn’t prevent the doctor from carrying out a quick examination that set off another coughing fit. Obviously I still had smoke in my lungs. ‘You’re a lucky cuss,’ the doctor finally announced. ‘We lost a couple. Would’ve lost you, but for your friend.’

‘Check him out, too,’ I croaked. ‘He’s burned. And he’s walking wrong.’

Chris glared at me even while he submitted to the doctor’s attentions. ‘Next time I’ll toss you out the window, too.’

I just smiled some more, knowing what he must have done: Chris would have jumped from our second-floor room, with me in his arms, and he would have made damned sure he took the brunt of the fall. I had a lot to be grateful to this man for.

The doctor bound up Chris’s right ankle, salved his hand and forearm, and then pronounced us fit, so long as we rested. He beckoned one of the townsfolk over. ‘John, you got a room these two can use tonight?’

‘Sure, doc,’ the guy said, despite our immediate protests.

So it came to pass that Chris and I spent the rest of the night spooned closely together in Mr. John Thwaite’s narrow bed, while the owner of the bed bunked down on the sofa in his front room. Western hospitality could be the best in the world. Despite everything we’d been through that night, and despite all the distractions of being deep in Chris Larabee’s arms, I once again slept like that proverbial log.

♦

We began riding home the next day. I didn’t know when I’d begun thinking of the town as home, but it was already a strong instinct.

Out in the wilderness alone together. Anyone might have expected we’d fall into our old pattern of encounters. But we didn’t. After all, I was still recovering from being half-suffocated, and Chris – leaving aside his minor burns and his sprained ankle – was still recovering from a state of shock, though he’d probably never admit as much. What we did instead was better than sex.

Not once did Chris wander away from our campfire. He sat beside me, and we stared into the flames, and we talked. Not about anything terribly significant most of the time, but we yarned the nights away; and then we lay together on our bedrolls, and we held each other for a while before sleeping. It was exactly what we both needed, because we were both wanting some healing just then.

On the second night I finally asked him, ‘When did you get those scars?’

Chris shrugged, as if it was of little importance. ‘There was a young girl caught in a house fire. She came through it fine. One of the rafters fell on me as we were getting out.’

I could imagine it: Chris shielding her with his body, not thinking of his own pain until the girl was safe. So much for my hero being the bad element…

A silence had fallen, during which Chris’s thoughts became far more troubled than mine. When he finally looked at me, his eyes were as haunted as I’d ever seen them. ‘I know how it feels to be burned alive,’ he rasped out. ‘I know how it would have been for them.’

Ah, so it wasn’t just the guilt and the self-hatred that made Chris who he was; it was also a burden of empathy.

‘Maybe it wasn’t like that,’ I dared to suggest.

‘No?’

‘No. _I_ wouldn’t have felt anything. It happened at night? Maybe the smoke took them away before they even knew what was happening. Maybe the last thing they knew was happy dreams.’

He was glowering at the flames, but I could tell he was considering this.

I whispered, ‘Where did you find them?’

‘In bed. In Sarah’s and my bed. Maybe… maybe Adam was sleeping the night with her.’

‘I bet that’s the way it was,’ I said with more confidence than I really felt – because the alternatives were too terrible to contemplate. Better that Chris imagine his wife and son in a comforting embrace, surrendering to dreams, rather than trapped and huddled up close trying to protect each other from the terror of it…

We sat up for a while after that, silent. And at last Chris said, ‘I need sleep,’ and we settled down together, both giving and taking comfort. It was the only answer, it was the perfect answer.

♦

We rode into town late one afternoon, and headed for the saloon. A nip of whisky soon eased my aching throat.

The others were all there, and they quickly realized we’d had our share of adventures during this journey. Nathan fussed over us; and J.D. pushed for an explanation, but he had to content himself with Chris’s laconic, ‘The hotel burned down; Vin would have, too, if I hadn’t gone in and thrown him out the window.’

‘How come you’re limping, Mr. Larabee?’ the kid asked.

‘Well, I jumped out after him, but Vin ain’t such a soft landing as he appears.’

I just smiled. What could I say? These men all knew something of Chris’s demons; they could guess at his bravery and my gratitude.

It was only then that I began realizing there was a new tension amongst our group of seven. Young J.D. was going somewhat out of his way to be welcoming, so I assumed that during our absence he’d come to terms with what he witnessed in the stables. Josiah was much the same as ever, though perhaps he seemed more inclined to laugh at us. Nathan and Ezra seemed safely oblivious. But then there was Buck… Chris’s old friend Buck Wilmington spent a lot of time staring at me with some hostility, and at Chris with a measure of impatience. Well, I’d figured all along that J.D. would seek Buck’s counsel on the matter, so it was no surprise that he knew. I supposed it was no great surprise that Buck should feel protective of Chris, either.

As the group around us temporarily ebbed away, I murmured to Chris, ‘Maybe I wasn’t the only one who thought you should end up with Mrs Travis.’

Chris smiled carelessly. ‘Buck loves the ladies so much, he always thought I was odd for… getting by with the alternative. And he’d know this is different.’

Temptation beckoned; I found I couldn’t help but push a little. ‘Different?’ I prompted.

‘Told you, I never done this with a friend before.’

I grinned, and indicated the other men with an expansive gesture. ‘Why on earth not, when you have so many to choose from?’ Seeing that Chris was actually on the verge of laughter, I continued, ‘What about J.D.?’

‘Too young,’ Chris said dismissively. ‘Too… enthusiastic about the wrong things.’

‘Josiah?’

Chris tilted his head for a moment’s consideration. Perhaps Josiah possessed some qualities that might have allowed this; or maybe Chris just hadn’t thought this through before. However, he soon pronounced, ‘Not pretty enough. And too crazed.’

‘Nathan?’

‘Well, he’s pretty, but he’s too earnest.’ Chris cast a brief but challenging glance at me. ‘And he’s too interested in healing.’

I let that one go, and asked, ‘Buck?’ They had been friends for so long, I wondered at Chris never seeking this kind of comfort with him.

‘Like I said, he loves the ladies. And he can’t keep a confidence.’ Another moment of serious reflection that I didn’t interrupt. ‘And he has no… equanimity.’

Lucky last. ‘Ezra.’

‘Too untrustworthy. Too inconstant.’

I almost reeled at that. Chris admitted to wanting _constancy_?

‘Are you done yet?’ he asked. And I nodded in reply, still dumbstruck.

Which was when J.D. returned to the table, bottle in hand; he refilled our shot glasses, and then asked me, ‘Were you serious about helping me with my shooting skills, Mr. Tanner?’

‘Yes, I was. And you know you can call me Vin.’

‘Thank you, Vin, sir. Like Mr. Larabee said, maybe my sights are off. I don’t have any guns I paid more than a dollar for. Buck tells me that’s too cheap.’

‘Well, we’ll see what we can do with them.’

‘Thank you, sir. Is Wednesday all right? I got duties tomorrow.’

‘Sure.’ I gave him a reassuring smile, swallowed the whisky, and then I began saying my goodnights; the last few days had been wearing. Under Buck’s bright glower, Chris and I each headed to our separate rooms. But what I dreamed about that night, lying in my bed all alone – well, that was nobody’s business but my own.

♦

The next day was as normal as our days ever got. Chris rode out to help a rancher and his family with an ornery neighbor; when Nathan tried to argue that our injured leader needed a day of rest, Chris just took him along. Josiah and I helped out on one of the local building sites, and dined with Mary Travis. Buck accompanied J.D. on whatever duties it was our young Sheriff had; collecting taxes, maybe. I had no idea where Ezra was. J.D. always suspected the con-man was cooking up some scheme when he was gone for too long – though, as Ezra could delight J.D. with magic tricks and boasting and foolery any time he cared to, Ezra never needed to fear J.D.’s poor opinion for long.

We congregated in the saloon later that night, and as before Buck glowered a lot but didn’t say anything. Seemed like Chris and I would just have to ride that one out. Although even I had very little idea what it was I’d gotten myself into, so I had no hope of ever explaining it to Buck to his satisfaction.

Chris had made it plain he didn’t want this to be love, and yet he seemed to want to continue, at least when we weren’t in town. As I sipped on my whisky, sitting amongst my friends, I resolved to let this be whatever it would best be, and leave it at that; there was no harm in me loving Chris, after all, no matter what else happened or didn’t happen.

But things did happen that night. Despite Buck’s disapproval, and despite our need for discretion, Chris invited me back to his boarding house room. It was a subtle invitation that reminded me of how we first met: he simply caught my eye, studied me for a moment, and then tilted his head in the direction of the saloon doors, as if to say _Shall we?_

I smiled, and lifted my chin in reply. _Yes_.

We didn’t speak as we walked down the main street side by side. I hardly knew what to expect, which did nothing to ease the pounding of my heart; however, if Chris wanted to be with me, then I wasn’t going to argue…

His room was dark, and I assumed he’d leave it that way; but once he’d locked the door, Chris lit an oil lamp and set it by the bed. The dead match was cast out the open window, with an annoyed flick of the wrist. And then Chris began undressing.

At first I watched him, startled into immobility, and (naturally) wanting to see the handsome strength that would be revealed. But then I hastened to disrobe as well, not wanting him to feel the foolishness that had almost unnerved me when we were in Tucson.

Chris was beautiful naked. I should have been prepared for that, but I wasn’t. His skin was pure gold in the lamp’s glow: rich gold on his face and arms that were worn by the elements; white gold on his torso and thighs that were secrets seldom revealed; and the red gold of the burn-scars down his right side and hip. There were other marks, too; I could see two bullet-scars and one healed knife-wound from where I stood on the other side of the room. A man rarely survived that much damage out west.

Of course, he’d been looking at me, too, and I was glad that he seemed pleased enough: he was at least prepared to continue, for he lay down on the bed, and lifted his hand to me in welcome.

Lying with him, skin to skin, was a blessing, a revelation. ‘I won’t mind going to hell when I die,’ I whispered, ‘because I’ve already had a scrap of heaven.’

‘Vin,’ he groaned, catching me up in a fierce embrace. The feel of him, _all_ of him, pressed against me was shocking. ‘You expect too much.’

‘I don’t expect anything. I just love you.’

He kissed me then, a ferocious kiss, and he only broke away to declare, ‘I’ve seen hellfire already, and I’m telling you they won’t want you there.’

Moving over him, thrusting long and hard against his strength, was sublime. But I wanted more, so I rolled over, taking him with me, until it was his suppleness shifting over me. For a while we tumbled back and forth like that within the confines of the bed, exploring the variations on this delightful theme; but soon enough the need built until we slipped into a mutually relentless drive towards final satisfaction.

When completion took me, I cried out, I couldn’t help myself. And my beloved Chris – he kept murmuring my name as the quakes surged through him. We held each other close for a long while after that, not quite daring to believe in the possibilities we’d created between us.

Finally, it was Chris who was the brave one. He turned the lamp out, dragged the sheet and blankets over us, and settled in behind me, spoon-fashion. I closed my eyes, ready for sleep to claim me. But then Chris pressed a kiss to my hair, and he whispered, ‘We’ll make a try for that scrap of heaven, then.’

I didn’t say anything. What could I say? But I wrapped my arms around his, echoing and strengthening his embrace of me, and my soul cried out _Yes!_

♦

The next afternoon, I rode out into the wilderness with J.D.. He’d brought along his collection of guns, and a bag full of cans and bottles which we could use for target practice.

The first task was sorting through the motley guns, and deciding which to keep and which to throw out. With some dismay, J.D. watched the discard pile grow; but as he acknowledged, he’d tended to buy them with an eye for bargains rather than for quality. The second task was to thoroughly clean and lightly oil the ones we’d probably keep. Once I’d shown J.D. how to go about this, we sat there working together in companionable peace.

‘You and Mr. Larabee,’ J.D. eventually murmured.

‘Yes?’ I responded, hardly surprised at him broaching the subject.

‘You been together long?’

‘A while.’

‘You gonna be together a while longer?’

‘I think so. We’ll see what happens.’ I smiled at him.

‘But you like him, right?’

‘Yes.’ After a moment, I figured the kid deserved as much of the truth as I could tell. ‘Actually, I like him a lot.’

‘And he likes you.’ It was a statement, not a question.

Still smiling, I said, ‘I hope so.’

‘Yeah, he does,’ J.D. said with all his nineteen-year-old assurance.

‘Thank you, J.D..’

He ducked his head in brief embarrassment. Long moments passed as we kept cleaning. J.D. passed a gun he’d finished to me, asking if he’d done all right – he had. ‘What’s next?’

‘Well, if you set up some targets on those rocks about thirty feet out, I’ll try firing these guns. I brought my tools – if we can get the sights aligned properly, we will. If not, either we discard them, or you simply remember how each gun fires and adjust your shot accordingly.’

J.D. looked a little dubious, but he ran off eagerly enough with his bag of cans.

On his return, I said, ‘Do you mind if I ask you a question?’

‘No, sir.’

‘What changed your mind about me and Chris?’

J.D. squinted against the harsh sunlight. ‘I don’t know, Mr. Tanner. It’s just, well, I was talking with Mr. Wilmington about it, and the more Buck kept saying how ridiculous it was, and the more he wondered what Mr. Larabee thought he was doing, and the more he got angry – the more I thought what the hell, it’s no big deal.’

I smiled, partly in appreciation and partly in amusement at J.D. having unconsciously picked up one of Chris’s phrases. ‘Thank you.’

‘Yeah,’ J.D. added with some ruefulness, ‘Buck didn’t take kindly to me laughing so much… Of course it’s probably a big deal to you,’ J.D. stumbled on with an attack of earnestness, ‘but I figure it’s your business; not mine, and not Buck’s.’

And that was that. We began testing the guns; true to his word, J.D. minded his own business for the rest of the afternoon. It was a pleasant time, and the ride home through the Arizona sunset blessed me with time for reflection.

All my life, I’d been restless, looking for something, I didn’t know what; taking every job there was, moving on when it was done; meeting people, getting to know them, then leaving them behind. Until now, when I thought I’d found something close to what I might have been searching for all along. God only knew why it was this man, in this time and place. But I was content that it be so. Maybe Josiah was right about finding a bit of peace. I was utterly content.

I rode home.

♦


End file.
